Bother
by SiriusBlack4Ever
Summary: After his Fifth Year, Harry is dropped into a large hole of depression and guilt. Can his friends save him? Or will he take matters into his own hands? Post OotP, contains dark thoughts, and mentions cutting and suicide


_A/N: This SongFic, along with 'Haunted', is probably my favorite that I've written, just because Harry is really psychotic and depressed in this one, which is one of my favorite versions of him, as you all probably know. So, that being said, know that there are a few dark thoughts in here, as well as references to cutting and suicide. You have been warned..._

Bother

Written by SiriusBlack4Ever

Inspired by the song 'Bother' by Stone Sour

Dedicated to Charmina at HPFanFiction, who recommended this song to me for a SongFic

  
-o-

Wish I was too dead to cry

My self-affliction fades

Stones to throw at my creator

Masochists to which I cater

-o-

The sun rises, and shines through my window. I am awake, but I do not move. My eyes are open, but I just stay there, staring at the ceiling, for the Merlin knows what day in a row now; too much time has passed for me to tell. I lie here like this, day after day, alone in my room. I just lie here, wondering, thinking, pondering, over anything and everything I could have done, or anything and everything I shouldn't have done. I know it's useless, but it's all I can do to try and stop the pain. Ever since that night when Sirius died, I have been nothing; I am nothing.

I've barely eaten since then, and my stomach aches constantly, begging for food, but I deny it. I've barely drank anything since then, and my throat hurts continuously, pleading for water, but I deny it. I haven't felt love since then, and my heart pains incessantly, asking for compassion, and I try not to deny it, for that is the greatest pain of all. But that is something that I cannot help.

There is no love left in me. I've tried to find it, but there is nothing. I've called and called for it, but there is no answer. I've purged through my thoughts, desperately wanting to find passion for this longing, this desire that I have. But there is nothing. I am hollow. I am empty. I am alone.

Tears never cease to fall, whether day or night. During the light hours, I cry over not having you there to guide me, to help me, to hold me if I need it. I cry for the pain I'm going through because of that. During the dark hours, I dream of you soaring through the veil, and wake up every five minutes to find the tears flowing endlessly down my cheeks.

I hate these tears, because they never end, and they only seem to make it worse. They make me think of you, and make me miss you more. They make me hurt inside, and they make me wish that I was dead. Too dead to cry. Too dead to love. Too dead to hurt. Too dead to think. Too dead to be myself.

The tears stopped momentarily when I tried to release the pain by causing more, but after a while that started to not work anymore. My self-affliction has faded, and I can no longer use it to rid myself of emotional pain. The sight of my bleeding wrist no longer comforts me. The feeling of the blood flowing down over my hand no longer consoles me. The sharp shots of pain no longer make me forget.

It doesn't stop the tears anymore, it doesn't rid the pain, but I use the knife anyway. It gives me something else to do besides think. I no longer feel the pain when the blade touches my skin, when it races over the scabbed flesh. I no longer feel the blood dripping slowly down the sides of my wrist. I no longer feel anything when I do this. It's just a habit, just a thing to pass the time. But it no longer comforts me.

I hate my life, my very existence. I hate this hollowness that I feel all the time; this emptiness, this hurt. I'm but a shadow in this world of bright laughter and love, a small, worthless forgotten something. I am nothing, I feel nothing. Nothing but pain, anger, and hurt. Nothing but sadness, remorse, and depression.

I don't understand why I was made. I know I'm supposed to fulfill this prophecy, but is that my only goal? Was I just put here to get rid of Voldemort, while all of my friends and loved ones die? Wasn't I meant to live for anything more?

I hate this whole thing. I hate everything and everyone, and I don't see a purpose for myself, besides killing that dumb son of a witch of Voldemort, which isn't even worth it if I have to go through the rest of my life feeling like this. I wish I could just crawl up in a corner and die, but this prophecy forbids it.

I hate my parents for forming and making me. I hate my creator for making me. I don't care who the hell they are, but I hate them. I want to throw stones at them, for making me live like this. I want to curse them into oblivion, beat them senseless, make them suffer the way I do.

I cannot take this anymore. I need to get rid of it all. I hate everyone, because all they do is sit and laugh at me when I fall, shun me aside when I do something wrong, and talk about me behind my back whenever someone starts a rumor about me. I cater to them, to the masochists that they are. They feed off of me and my problems, and they have been for as long as I can remember.

-o-

You don't need to bother;

I don't need to be

I'll keep slipping farther

But once I hold on,

I won't let go 'til it bleeds

-o-

Another owl has swept into my room, and lands beside me, trying to make me take the letter that is tied to it's leg. But I won't take it. I've already told them all that I don't want to see them. I wrote one letter to them, telling them to stop talking to me, stop trying to contact me. I told them that I'm better off alone, that I want to just be by myself for a while. They told me they were worried, that they'd come and get me, but I once again told them not to worry, that they didn't need to bother. Then I told them that I didn't want to talk to them again until I had sorted everything out for myself. They didn't think that this was good, and still sent me letters, trying to get me to talk to them, but I never replied after that. And I doubt that I ever will again.

I don't need to live, to _be_. I don't need to be here now, so why should they worry about me? Why should they spend all their time and effort on me when I don't need them to, when they can't give me what I want. No one can give me what I want, because what I want is gone for good.

I used to have so many dreams, so many plans, so many goals. And my biggest dream, my biggest plan, my biggest goal, was to someday clear Sirius' name, so that I could live with him in peace, and we could be happy together. I never knew if it was going to happen, but it was still possible, so I hung onto it.

However, it isn't possible anymore. It can never, ever happen. And once I realized that my biggest dream had died, all of my other dreams died too. I fell into a big, black hole of nothingness and hollowness, and since then, I've been slipping farther and farther into it, losing more and more of my sanity each day. I have no intention of coming back, either. I have no intention of grabbing back hold. But, if for some reason I do go back, I do hold on, then I will wait. I'll face Voldemort, and hold on just to that. And I won't let go until I bleed, and I am gone.

-o-

Wish I was too dead to care

If indeed I cared at all

Never had a voice to protest

So you fed me shit to digest

I wish I had a reason;

My flaws are open season

For this, I gave up trying

One good turn deserves my dying

-o-

I wish that I didn't care so much. I wish that I could stop caring. If I could do that, my problems would be solved; they would end. I would be cured. I wish that I was too dead to care. But the thing is, although I care, I don't care. I cared about Sirius, and because of that, I feel miserable. But he is the only thing I care about, so there is nothing else. I care about nothing but him, and because of that, I couldn't give a hippogriff's arse about the rest of the world. It doesn't matter to me anymore.

Back when I used to care, care about so many things, I never voiced my own opinion. I never protested. I never stood up for myself because I didn't want people to hate me since I was different, and since I didn't always belong. Everyone gave me crap, fed me shit about what they thought I was, how much I had done, and later on, how much they hated me, and how much of an attention-seeker I was. But then I did start to protest; I found my voice again, and spoke my mind, and it didn't turn out any better, for people liked me even less then.

People are back to liking me now, but it's only because the 'Prophet' told everyone that I wasn't lying. And of course the 'Prophet' is always right, and always knows best, so we can all say that it's safe to assume that Harry Potter isn't crazy, right? People like that make me sick, because they believe what everyone else says, not what you say. It's like that old Chinese Proverb, which says, 'A wise man makes his own decisions, an ignorant man follows public opinion'. It's sad to say, but everyone who reads the 'Prophet' is ignorant, because they'll believe anything in there.

I wish I had a reason to go on, but I don't think that I do. I mean, yeah, there's destroying Voldemort, but like I said: is that really worth going through a life full of pain for? I don't think it is. I'd much rather die than live with this poor excuse of a life for Merlin knows how many more years. I'd much rather save myself than a world full of people. Yeah, I know that sounds horrible, but guess what? I don't care. I'm not the perfect person that everyone thinks I am (or at least thinks I am when the 'Prophet' says I am). I have faults and mistakes like everyone else.

In fact, I probably have a lot more than everyone else, especially because if I don't do something right, it's a lot worse than if someone else didn't do it right. My flaws are now open-season; they're now available for all to look at. Everyone can now see just how much of a git I am, just how many horrible things I really do.

You know, I've given up trying to be good, because everyone is always so shocked when little Golden Boy Potter does something wrong. Because I've given up trying to be decent, no one can be shocked anymore when I do something wrong. No one can put me on the front page of every newspaper in Europe for it. No one will do anything about it, because they'll just expect it from me. Instead of deserving to die for something horrible I've done, it would be the opposite way. I'd deserve to die for doing something good, because people would think it wasn't real, it wasn't really me, and that I was just being an 'attention-seeker' again.

-o-

Wish I'd died instead of lived

A zombie hides my face

Shell forgotten

With its memories

Diaries left

With cryptic entries

-o-

You know, I used to be kind of glad that Voldemort failed to kill me. Sure, I didn't have my parents, and I had to spend the first eleven years of my life sleeping in a cupboard, but after I started Hogwarts, things seemed to be okay. I had friends, friends that liked me, friends that _were_ like me. But now, all of that has changed.

I feel alone, and I feel helpless. I feel like I have nothing, and no one left. I feel as though I'm standing in a huge crowd, and everyone just passes me by. I scream to people, call to them, hit them, touch them, grab them; but yet, they do not notice me. My biggest fear now is myself, because I can't escape it. I cannot escape myself.

No longer do I enjoy the fact that I got to live when Voldemort tried to kill me. No longer do I enjoy the fact the fact that I can still be here, even though my parents weren't fortunate enough to say the same. Now, I wish that I would have died instead of lived. Now, I wish that I could have gone that night, disappeared with the rest of my house and family.

I am not myself anymore. I've taken a few glances at myself in the mirror since I've been here, and I know that if someone walked into the room, they would not recognize me. I am different; not only because I'm much thinner, not only because I haven't seen real sunshine for who knows how long, not only because I've barely moved at all, some days not even moving once. No, I am different in other ways, too.

My face appears so much more different now, especially around my eyes. My eyes constantly have dark circles under them from lack of sleep, and are almost always bloodshot from that as well. And not only that, but there is something else wrong with them as well. Their normal bright green color, which used to be alight with happiness and life, is now dull and devoid of anything. They are hollow, shadowed, and they show no emotion whatsoever. It is as if a zombie is hiding my face these days.

My shell that I used to keep around myself, the shell that I used to try and hide my emotions, lays forgotten. All of my memories that I stocked up inside of it are forgotten as well. All of my past emotions have already been lost and shed through tears, and they are lying on the floor with my shell, just far enough away so that I can't grasp them anymore, I don't remember them anymore.

My shell is forever gone now, and so I am no longer afraid to show my memories. But as of now, there is only one memory, one that plays itself over and over again like a film in my mind: the memory of Sirius dying. I cry over that one day and night, displaying my emotions for all to see, although there is no one _to_ see them.

At first, I thought that since I couldn't talk to anyone else, that I would talk to an imaginary person instead. I started to keep my own 'diary', which was really just scraps of parchment on which I wrote my thoughts. But now I do not do that anymore. I cannot do that. It never really comforted me much to begin with, and it does even less of that now. It, like my self-affliction, has faded away to nothing, although I do still cut myself out of habit.

But I do not write anymore. That only makes me feel more depressed. The so-called 'diaries' lay left and forgotten, their entries cryptic and without meaning. They, like so many other things, have died away, and are useless to me now. Talking to them never helps, because they do nothing to comfort me after I've released my emotions.

-o-

You don't need to bother;

I don't need to be

I'll keep slipping farther

But once I hold on...

I'll never live down my deceit

-o-

Now I almost - almost - wish that I could talk to someone, because I think that I need it. But I won't. I will not try to share this burden with anyone else. Every time that I try to share burdens with people, they die. My parents tried to help with my burden of Voldemort, and they died. I tried to share the burden of the Triwizard Cup with Cedric, and he died. I tried to share the burden of my problem with Voldemort to Sirius as well, and he, like my parents, died.

I will not let anymore of my friends die because I tried to share my burdens with them. So I will not talk to them anymore. I am protecting them by doing this. I am thinking of them. They do not need to bother with me. I don't need to live or be anymore, for they will only live harder lives because of it. I'll just keep slipping farther into this blackened hole, until I grow insane and become to weak to do anything, and I completely lose myself. I will remain here until that happens.

What's that noise? What is that sound that I just heard. The Dursley's are gone, and they never bother me even when they are home, so what is that noise outside my door? Could it be Voldemort? I almost hope so, so that he can just get rid of me now, and I don't have to suffer anymore than I am already.

What? Why are _they_ here? I told them to stay away. I told them not to worry about me, not to bother with me. So why have they come? I wish they would stop looking at me; they look so shocked and worried and startled by me. Well, how did they expect to find me? Happy and excited, prancing around the room with daisy chains around my neck? Honestly, they can't be _that_ thick, can they?

Listen to them now, trying to talk to me, trying to make me listen to them while they sit there and tell me that I'm hurting myself and that I have to stop what I'm doing. They're not going to change my mind at all. I'm just going to lie here forever, until I become to weak to do anything and Voldemort finds me and kills me. Nothing they say or do will change that.

...But look at them...Hermione is crying, holding on to Ron for dear life, who looks as though he's about to let loose his tears as well. And Tonks is standing there in the back, looking like it's all she can do to stop herself from joining them. And Lupin - oh, Lupin. He looks crestfallen and worried and nauseous and scared and sad. He never shows his emotions, not one, and here he is, showing at least five at once. I've let him down so much. I can't go on like this, causing all of these people so much pain...

But I can't back down. It's for the best; not only for them, but for me. I have to be bold and courageous like a true Gryffindor, and stand up for I want, for what I think is right. But yet, I cannot sit here and look at these people - these friends of mine - crying and worrying over me. I have to hold on. I have to stop the falling, and I have to grab hold and hold on, just for them.

I sit up, and everyone is happy. A few tears escape my eyes, and I suddenly hold my arms out in front of me. Everyone immediately rushes forward and embraces me, and holds me tight and close. I do the same. I think I have finally found love again, and some of the pain that my heart has been feeling is gone. Some of the passion that it has been craving is satisfied, and for the first time since Sirius' death, I feel like parts of me are coming back. There is still a huge gap, a gap that can never be completely filled, because parts of it will always be missing. But some has come back, and that is something at least.

Everyone finally releases me, and they help me up. Together, they grab my things and place them in my trunk, and Tonks levitates them out in front of us. Lupin and Ron place their arms underneath me for support, and Hermione walks behind me, making sure that I don't fall backwards.

As we walk out of the room and start down the stairs, I can't help but think that holding on may not be completely bad. But as we reach the landing at the bottom of the stairs, I also know that there will be bad things to go along with it as well. And one of those things is that I will never let go of the fact that it is my fault that Sirius died, and that it's my fault that he's gone. I promised myself that I wouldn't lose him after my Third Year, and I lied. So even if I do hold on, I will never be able to live down my deceit.

_Ooh...depressing...yay!! Anyways, please let me know whether or not you liked it or not! _

_Psychotic Harry 'Til the End,_

_SiriusBlack4Ever_


End file.
